Page 123 of Hate So Deep

Shaking his head, he pulls into the driveway, and I eye Mom’s vehicle as he says, “I’d fuck you again and again if that were an option but that’s where it would end.”

While he puts the truck in park, I turn to him, eyeing his ticking jaw and the way his fingers curl into fists on the wheel.

I’m equally annoyed and thrilled because at least he’s not completely denying some sort of feeling for me, but I don’t understand the meaning behind his words.

Turning his head, he meets my gaze, those dark eyes glittering and says, “I’ll never be what you need.”

“What makes you think you know what I need?”

The corner of his lip curves and he says, “What makes you think I don’t? You’re looking for something, Lauren but it’s not me you should be looking to do it.”

“Do what?” I whisper.

“I’m not the man who’s going to make you feel loved, baby girl.”

My stomach burns at his words, but I shove that shit aside. He thinks he knows me.

Fine.

Maybe I am searching for meaning because right now nothing makes sense, but he doesn’t get it.

I’m not attracted to Dirk because I’m craving love, at least not in the way he’s implying.

Dirk is the only one who pulls me from the abyss when I’m falling backward and maybe it’s not the healthiest of methods, but it works for me.

Still, I have more dignity than arguing with him. He doesn’t want me, okay, then get the fuck out of my life.

All this rolls around in my head until he nods to the door. “Go on.”

Right. I need to confront my psycho mother because Dirk needs tomoveon.

Where that leaves me is exactly where I stand now, fucking alone.

Pushing the door open, I drop to the ground and stare blindly at the house. Just before closing the door, I rasp, “Just fucking go, Dirk. I don’t need your pity and I sure as shit don’t fucking care about your opinions.”

After that, I march inside the house and I’ll give him this for the first few minutes that I search for my mother, I’m blissfully blinded by rage until I, once again, find her in the fucking basement and my earlier reservations about this roll through me again.

This time, she’s farther into the room and at first, I don’t see her because she’s on her knees but when her head pops up as I stop at the bottom of the stairs, we lock eyes, and my heart sinks to my toes.

We stare at each other for a few minutes before she stands, brushing off her pants and says, “What are you doing here?”

Eyeing her hair, a halo around her face, I try to remember the last time I saw her this, well, casual I guess but come up empty.

Hell, she’s even missing the strand of pearls she perpetually wears and it’s this that pushes me off kilter.

“Well?” she snaps, and I swallow before raising my palms.

“The police, they think something happened to Aimee here. They…they think I did something to her.”

Although her brows flicker, she shows no other emotion while she drills me with her icy stare before saying, “Did you?”

“I…no. No!”

“Then what’s the problem? I don’t have time for your hysterics, Lauren.”

Jesus this bitch is ice cold.

How do I reach her when she quite simply doesn’t care?

---